


I hope that it matters

by mazily



Series: Weekly Berena Fix [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Weekly Berena Fix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: In her grief, everything feels different.





	I hope that it matters

**Author's Note:**

> Week 1 prompt: snuggle.

Everything feels different. Her 800 thread count sheets. The duvet. Her pillows. (The floor when she crosses barefoot to the en suite; the slippers she finally locates, slips on, next to the bath. Soap on her hands. Between the webbing of her fingers, fastidious even when she's not at work.)

The lights in the bathroom feel like they're humming at the same frequency as her body. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her hair a fright. Skin sallow, dry, her entire face of caricature of itself in the mirror. She turns the taps. Splashes her face with cold water, over and over and over, unsure how long she's been standing here. Just wanting to feel--

"Serena." 

Her feet feel damp. She looks down at the puddle of water spreading out around her. Her brain can't catch up to what she needs to do next: turn off the still-running water, dry her face, clean up the mess, put her slippers somewhere to dry. Everything feels equally urgent. 

"Oh, darling," Bernie says, grabbing towels from the racks, and crouching down with a grunt to soak up the water on the floor. 

Serena shakes off her fogginess, turns off the water. Steps out of her slippers. Bernie passes her a clean towel, and she pats her face with it. Hands it back to Bernie, who drops it onto the pile of towels on the floor. Serena sets her slippers on the counter to dry. Can't stop herself from glancing back down at the towels. 

"I'll run a load of laundry in the morning," Bernie says.  

"Thank you." Serena doesn't have the energy to apologize, to explain that she hadn't meant to make Bernie feel guilty about the mess, that she can clean it up herself just as well come morning. (She'll get up early. Put everything in the washing machine before Bernie wakes up. Ignore the bag of Elinor's dirty clothes propped up against the machine.) She lets Bernie lead her back into the bedroom, trying to distract herself with the sight of Bernie in boxer briefs and vest top and nothing else. "Did I know you were staying here tonight?"

Bernie smiles, but it doesn't stretch to her eyes. Serena feels a dull stab of guilt; she's done that to Bernie, let her sadness spill over until it's poisoned Bernie too. "I did ask," Bernie says, "But if you've--I can sleep on the sofa if you'd rather."

"No, no," Serena says, "Stay." She isn't sure whether she deserves the warmth of another body in bed with her, but Bernie looks--happy isn't right, but pleased, relieved? at Serena's answer, and she takes a small bit of comfort in that. In not doing the wrong thing again. Not lashing out, no matter how much her entire body boils over with the desire to make the whole world burn with her.

"Good." 

They gravitate to their own sides--Bernie's small tube of hand cream still on the nightstand on her side, the book she'd started two weeks ago still dogeared and unfinished--and Serena wishes she could enjoy the fact that Bernie has a side of the bed. That Bernie has a place in her life, even now, even like this. 

Serena leans over and presses a quick kiss to Bernie's mouth before lying down, there and gone before Bernie can fully reciprocate. She rolls onto her side. Facing away from Bernie because it's her comfortable side, but there's a sliver of her that's glad of the excuse not to see whatever expression is on Bernie's face (her mind cycles through the options:  _ surprised happy sad disappointed confused angry it's all your fault Serena-- _ ). Serena closes her eyes.

"Love you," she says. She's determined to make sure Bernie knows. That she can be sure of this one incontrovertible truth. You never know what the morning will bring, after all; you don't know when death will sneak in during the night. And doesn't Serena know that better than most?

"I love you." Bernie's voice sounds sure. Honest. True. Serena feels the tears threatening at the back of her eyes, and she holds her spare pillow against her chest. Her entire body feels like it's going to crack open. She wonders if Bernie can sense it. Thinks she probably can; Serena doesn't deserve her compassion, her never-ending well of love and support, but can't quite bring herself to refuse it right now. (Maybe later. With the daylight to support her. Her work clothes as armor, and the work itself to keep her upright.) 

Bernie curls up behind her--"may I?" in her kindest tone of voice; Serena's head shaking up and down,  _ yes, but only if you mean it _ \--and moves closer only at Serena's okay. Wraps an arm around Serena's waist. Presses a kiss to the back of Serena's neck, to her shoulder, to her ear, before resting her head on Serena's pillow. Holding Serena together against the shards building up inside her. 

Serena doesn't sleep, and Bernie doesn't let go. She holds Serena, full stop, through the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> A series of (probably unrelated) fics written in response to [Weekly Berena Fix](https://weeklyberenafix.tumblr.com/) prompts. Also available @ [ylizam](https://ylizam.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
